


One Night

by Suryaofvulcan



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-09
Updated: 2006-04-09
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8092306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suryaofvulcan/pseuds/Suryaofvulcan
Summary: Preseries PWP. (03/12/2006)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

A half-smile of satisfaction quirks my lips as I stand at the top of the wide, sweeping stairway that descends majestically into the heaving, amorphous mass of anonymous bodies on the dance floor below. Who would have thought such a hedonistic scene could take place only a few short blocks from the ascetic silence of the Vulcan compound? This is what I was seeking when I ventured out from my solitary lair tonight: a place to lose myself in the crowd; to touch and be touched without the encumbrance of names or ranks, introductions or conversations, acquaintances or relationships; a place to find fulfilment in emptiness, in anonymity, in unrestrained lust.

Tonight is a celebration, a last hurrah, before I buckle down and dedicate myself once more to achieving my ambition of serving aboard Starfleet's first deep-space vessel. I'm not a glamorous fly-boy like Archer or Robinson. My specialty is weapons and battle tactics, and I know that my goal can only be attained through hard work and dedication.

Armoury, tactical and security: the post on which I've set my sights requires expertise in all three. It's no idle boast to say I'm already the best armoury and tactical officer in the service. Those weapons I didn't have a hand in designing myself, I evaluated and tested, and I'm a crack shotâ€”the medal from the '44 Olympics that sits at the bottom of my underwear drawer is proof enough of that. And the years I spent as a teenager researching naval battles for my father's novels mean I sail, almost literally, through tactical simulations.

But today's promotion and the move into security presents a different challenge. I'm more than comfortable with the physical aspects. Always smaller and slighter than my peers, I practised both ancient and modern forms of hand-to-hand combat from an early age, and I've been careful to maintain my ranking. The legal and managerial challenges are more problematic: to be both a soldier and a policeman, to guard against both external and internal threats, to protect both the lives of the crew and the interests of Earth. I must master all these contradictions before the captain of the NX-01 is chosen: he'll want the best officers aboard for his maiden voyage, and I intend to be his first choice by a very wide margin.

Lieutenant. The new rank sits comfortably on my shoulders, and with it comes responsibility, authority, and opportunity. There's time to perfect my craft. As yet the NX-01 exists only on paper, but five years from now when the ship is ready, I will be too.

But Lieutenant Malcolm Reed has remained at home tonight. For one night only, I have shed the stiff military persona that was bred into me, and allowed my other self to come forward: the man who enjoys dancing with strangers in crowded nightclubs; who wears a tight black t-shirt and tighter button-fly jeans that show off his lean, lithe physique; who will offer his body, but never his heart, to someone as yet unknown.

I descend swiftly, confidently, into the steamy mass of sweaty bodies, my feet already moving in time with the pounding, erotic rhythm of the music coming up from below. I prowl into the crowd of dancers, moving as one with them, yet separate, enjoying the crush of bodies around me. The volume of the music makes conversation impossible, and the only communication is by eye- or body-contact. My current persona prefers the latter. Occasionally I'm drawn into a group or couple, our bodies moving sensuously together, momentarily creating one harmonious whole. A quartet of women envelops me: the beautiful creature in front pressing her ample breasts against my chest as she grasps my hips; the one behind snaking her arms around my torso as she moulds herself against my back; and one on either side, each grinding her groin into a thigh as each of my hands cups a firm arse. The invitation is clear and my body responds eagerly to their advances. I admit staying with them might be an amusing diversion, but they're not what I'm seeking tonight. As the music changes to a subtly different beat my eyes are already roaming farther afield, searching for something â€¦ special; unique. My prize. My reward. My gift to myself, for one night only.

Over my buxom partner's shoulder I spy a smooth, well-muscled bare chest and a glint of gold nipple-rings against dusky skin. My gaze travels upwards, over strong arms and shoulders, to a handsome face and limpid ebony eyes. His smouldering gaze beckons me and I reluctantly bid farewell to my cocoon of feminine softness, slipping out of their embrace in pursuit of something more in keeping with my usual taste. Usually I prefer to feel a more hirsute chest than his writhing against mine, but the piercings intrigue me and I wonder idly if his nipples are the only parts of his body that are pierced.

He turns, giving me a view of a firm, round behind encased in clinging black leather, then he looks over his shoulder and grins, flashing white teeth, as I approach.

I slip my arms around his waist, and he welcomes the contact, swinging his hips so that his lovely arse rubs against my groin as I reach up with one hand to play with the tiny gold sleepers I find so fascinating, while the other creeps down over his well-defined abs to tease just inside his waistband. My already semi-erect penis rises rapidly to full attention as he presses into me, and I bury my face in his broad shoulder, breathing his spicy aroma as I strive to maintain my composure. I want to savour this one night of freedom: it wouldn't do for it to be over too quickly.

The music changes once more and his movements slow. I'm calmer now and I glance up, only to discover he's found a second partner. The other man could be his twin, and they're locked in a passionate kiss, tongues thrusting as they devour each other. Reluctantly I disengage and move away, my arousal dwindling as I watch their embrace become more involved. As intriguing as it might be to experience both of them together, tonight, I don't want to share.

No-one else catches my eye as I move slowly towards the back of the room. The heat has made me thirsty, so I head for the bar, and I'm surprised to find there's still one empty seat. As I climb onto the stool and order a beer I glance at the man sitting on my right. Then I take a second, longer, more appraising look at the blond, golden-skinned vision before me. His blue jeans and plain white cotton shirt comprise easily the least elaborate costume I've seen here tonight, yet he manages to make them look absolutely stunning: the shirt fitting snugly across his broad shoulders and the heavy denim jeans encasing long, slim legs. Then I notice the thatch of dark-blond hair visible just inside the three open buttons of the shirt, and I'm forced to take a gulp of cold beer as a wave of heat travels down my chest and into my groin.

He's finished his beer and sits playing with the empty bottle, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. I doubt he even noticed my arrival, and I'm certain he isn't aware of me intently studying his profile. His face isn't conventionally handsome, but it has enough character to be beautiful in its own way: a strong, clean-shaven jaw; a wide mouth with just the smallest hint of a pout; a sweeping, slightly upturned nose; long blond lashes and mobile brows which are currently drawn together as he frowns slightly. I'm gripped by the desire to attract his attention before he decides to leave. It seems a conversation will be necessary after all.

"Waiting for someone?" I ask, raising my voice a little to be heard over the dull thud of imperfectly damped music leaking in from the dance floor.

He turns to me, and I see his eyes for the first time. They're so blue they're almost turquoise: simply breathtaking.

"I was, but he just called to say he can't make it."

A shiver runs down my spine, taking a route I very much hope this man's fingers will follow soon. This is the one I've been searching for all evening. I've always had a penchant for accents: Italian, Russian, even Australian, once. Yet until now American accents have left me cold. But this isn't the bland California sing-song I've become so accustomed to hearing these last few years; it's a rich, gravely Southern drawl, thick and sweet as molasses, that dribbles over me, leaving my heart pounding and my knees weak.

"That's a shame." I try to sound casual. I indicate his empty beer bottle. "Can I buy you another?"

"Uhâ€”yeah, sure. Thanks." He sounds surprised. And the smile, as bright and warm as the sun, sends another wave of heat through me. "Trip," he says, holding out his hand for me to shake. It's warm and rough and calloused; his grip strong, but not bone-crushing.

He knows the rules. No real names here. But the nickname is apt: I must take care not to 'Trip' over myself and end up drowning in those wonderful sea-blue eyes.

For a moment I wonder what my name will be tonight, and then an identity from another life resurfaces and a line from an old spy movie comes back to me. The name's Bond: James Bond. It seems appropriate to tonight's proceedings.

"James," I say, accompanied by my best smile. His own widens as he turns to face me, and I bathe in its warmth. "So, what happened?" I ask as his beer arrives.

He looks nonplussed.

"To your friend?" I prompt, clarifying.

"Oh, he had to work late. Y'knowâ€”test pilotsâ€”every time they crash a ship they make 'em fill out a mountain o' paperwork." His tone is light, but I can see the concern for his friend in his twinkling blue eyes.

"Better than ending up dead," I observe, keeping the same light tone.

"Yeah."

We drink in silence for a while, and I turn to face away from the bar, leaning back against it, deliberately displaying myself as I coolly observe him observing me. His eyes roam over my body, and it's almost like a physical caress as they take in my biceps and triceps, sweep over my chest and abs, easily visible under my damp, clinging t-shirt, and come to rest on the arousal that's now evident in my groin. I wonder what's going through his mind as I watch his frank appraisal.

He glances up and meets my eyes. "D'you wanna dance?" he asks without preamble, placing his second empty bottle firmly on the bar and sliding easily off his seat to stand expectantly before me.

I'm ridiculously pleased that he's asked, and my only answer is to duplicate his move. Now that we're both standing I discover he's a few centimetres taller than me, as I suspected he would be, but not so tall that he towers over me. My nose is level with his chin, and I'm close enough to inhale his heady citrus scent as his eyes rake appreciatively down my body once again, and he gives a smile and a brief nod of approval before he turns and leads me towards the dance floor.

The crush of humanity soon forces us closer together until finally our bodies touch for the first time. The touch is compelling, and any lingering doubts I might have harboured about his intentions towards me are immediately dispelled as I feel his hands on my body, one running sensuously down my back to cup my bum and pull my groin against his, and the other sliding up behind my head to weave into my hair. I find myself grasping one hard, muscled shoulder for support as he stares intently into my eyes, drawing ever closer, and I'm powerless to resist when his mouth closes over mine in an ardent kiss.

My first taste of him is glorious; everything I could have hoped for. He probes eagerly into my mouth, and I willingly open for him, encouraging his gentle but insistent exploration. Our lips slide wetly against each other as we kiss, open mouthed, and our tongues join together in a sensual battle for dominance inside each other's mouths. We move as one, chest to chest and thigh to thigh, and my heart pounds as I open his remaining shirt buttons, exposing his wonderfully furry, muscular chest and washboard stomach, then I bury my fingers in the hair, finding his nipples and pinching them to hardness as he moans into my mouth. Our passion-filled kiss continues as I slide one hand down until it comes to rest on his groin, firmly cupping his erection, and I delight in his reaction as he thrusts forward into it, reassuring me that he wants this as much as I do.

My cock throbs in time with the heavy thrum of the music as it drives us forward, grinding against each other, yet at the same time he somehow manoeuvres us through the crowd to one of the small, u-shaped booths that line the far wall of the room. We stagger inside, barely able to stay upright as we strive for ever greater contact, and he sits down heavily on the padded bench-seat that runs around the edge of the booth, pulling me in to straddle his lap as he does so. In this position I'm taller than him, a situation in which I rarely find myself, and I find this new perspective intensely arousing. Our mouths haven't parted since the moment we reached the dance floor, but now we redouble our efforts, our tongues thrusting almost frantically into each other's mouths, our lips sliding wetly. I don't think I've ever been with a man who wanted to kiss so muchâ€”not that I'm complaining. He feeds greedily at my lips, his tongue probing and tasting, and in my turn I devour him hungrily. My fingers roam up from his gorgeously exposed chest to his shoulders, and up his neck to tangle in his hair, while his slip under my t-shirt, and I jump in surprise at the unexpected jolt of pleasure I feel in my groin as he touches my bare skin for the first time.

He brushes his calloused fingertips repeatedly over the ticklish spots on my ribs, and I can't help but moan my approval into the kiss. His hands explore further, up my back and around to my chest, mirroring what I did to his nipples a few minutes ago, and then down again to grab my bum.

I'm so hard it's almost painful, and the moment has come to find out if this is really what he wants. Without breaking the kiss I slide one hand slowly but steadily back down through his thick pelt, feeling his stomach muscles quivering under my touch, until finally I open the button on his jeans.

He growls approval into my mouth as I tug at the zip, and his own hands come down to make short work of my button fly. Our position obscures what we're doing from the other dancersâ€”as if anyone is bothering to lookâ€”as I slip my hand into his briefs and he frees my erection. I don't know which I find more arousing; touching him or being touched. Just the sensation of holding his generous length in my hand while he does the same to me is nearly my undoing, but I manage to hold back, calming myself with thoughts of phase pistols and energy barriers.

Then he begins to stroke. Actually he hardly needs to move his hand at all as I rock my hips and thrust into it. Only his thumb is mobile, continuously moving in a rapid circular motion, smearing my own precum over the head of my penis as he strokes and squeezes. I try to make it last, but soon the pleasure becomes too much, and he swallows my groan as I come, my seed spilling onto him, matting in his chest hair and dribbling down onto his belly. A few more rapid strokes of my own semen-covered hand is all it takes to bring him to completion.

In truth I'm a little disappointed as we sit there, both of us panting as we recover. I had hoped his passionate kisses were leading to something more than this rather perfunctory release. As he wrestles a handkerchief out of his pocket and begins to clean us up I shift, ready to move off him, but he brings one hand up to cup my face, rubbing his thumb along my cheekbone, and I pause, trying to read the expression in those wonderful eyes. He's beautifully dishevelled: his blond hair tousled, his cheeks flushed, his pupils dilated and his lips kiss-swollen. When he leans in close again, it isn't to resume our kisses.

"My apartment is just 'round the corner," he growls in my ear, and my heart soars.

Our short journey through the darkened streets is punctuated every few metres by deep, hungry kisses, but at last we reach our destination. He fumbles with the lock for what seems like an ageâ€”although I admit he's probably distracted by the thorough groping I give him as he tries to open itâ€”but finally he opens the door and leads me into the small apartment. It hasn't even closed behind us before I find myself pressed bodily against the wall, his tongue tickling my tonsils.

I remove his shirt and drop it on the floor, and run my palms over his warm, sun-kissed skin. Now that we're in private I want to see and feel all of him. Our passion rises quickly, and in moments we're both hard again, but as I grind into him he pushes me away.

I look up at him, confused. I thought he wanted this. He took the lead in bringing me here, but now I'm terrified he's changed his mind. After all, what could this beautiful man possibly want with me?

"Bed," he says firmly, taking my hand in his and leading me into the bedroom, and suddenly I can breathe again. Of course, it isn't me he's with tonight: it's confident, sexy James.

Our clothes seem to melt away and I soon find myself naked and pinned beneath him on the bed as he rains firey kisses on my face and neck. I spread my legs and gyrate my hips as I squirm and writhe under him, wanting to make as much contact as possible, loving the feel of his body-hair against my smoother skin. I can feel the rock-hard length of his penis and his soft, velvety balls pressing against mine, and I reach down to grab his bum, hearing his soft grunt of pleasure as I pull him even closer.

We grind together again and again, our erections rubbing together between our hot, sweaty bodies, until I begin to feel my climax building. But now that we're alone I want more than this mutual masturbationâ€”as delightful as it is.

"Fuck me, Trip," I whisper, using his name for the first time. At this moment I don't care that it isn't his real name: I just want to use it, to make some small connection with him, however temporary and tenuous.

He pulls back to gaze at me, his dark, passion-filled eyes searching my face, as if he isn't sure I really said it.

"Fuck me," I say again, gazing straight back into his eyes.

After one more long, deep kiss, he reaches over me into the drawer of the nightstand, and I inhale deeply, enjoying his musky male smell. As he searches blindly inside it his nipple comes within range of my mouth, and I find I can't resist. He sighs softly and stops his search for a moment as I close my mouth over it, suckling and nibbling at the sensitive flesh until he finally finds the lubricant and pulls reluctantly away from my teasing mouth. I drink in the sight of him as he gazes down at me.

"Naughty," he says, smiling and tapping the end of my nose playfully with his finger as I grin unrepentantly up at him.

"Very," I agree, mirroring his tone. "What's my punishment?" I know what I hope it will be.

He doesn't disappoint me. I lie back and raise my knees, letting my legs fall open, and his intense gaze sweeps down my naked body, followed by his warm, slightly rough palm moving from my shoulder, down over my chest and ribs and belly to my hip and thigh. He snaps open the lube and coats his fingers, then he leans down and sucks on my nipple as he reaches between my legs, and I let our a sigh of pleasure as I feel him begin to gently tease my anus.

He murmurs something I don't catch as he begins to kiss his way down my body, his hot breath tickling my sensitised skin as he traces the contours of my pectoral and abdominal muscles with his tongue, and I arch into his touch as he slowly increases the pressure on my tight opening, until finally, as he laps away the bead of precum at the tip of my penis, his fingertip nudges inside.

I moan softly at the welcome intrusion. It's been far too long. He allows me a moment to adjust, and then pushes deeper as his tongue and lips tease the head of my cock. I raise myself up on my elbows, watching as he kisses and licks his way down my engorged shaft and gently coats my balls with his saliva. When he blows on them I almost jump out of my skin.

He glances up and gives me a sly wink, followed by a grin moments later when his searching fingertip finds its goal and a cry escapes me as sparks of electricity fizz in my groin.

With a groan of pure pleasure I fall back on the bed as a second finger joins the first, stretching the tight ring of muscle. It's wonderful to be with someone so considerate; so careful. In a few moments a third finger joins the others, twisting and touching delightfully inside me as his lips play across the tip of my penis once more, and I want nothing more than to lose myself in sensation, but I know if I do it will be over too quickly. I want him to join with me; to take his own pleasure in my body; to cry out my name as he reaches his climax. Even if it's a name I have taken only for this one night.

"I'm ready," I tell him at last, grasping his shoulder. I want him so much, I can't wait any longer. I move to turn over, to rise up on my knees, offering myself, but I pause as I feel his hand on my shoulder, pushing me back down.

"I wanna see your face," he says softly, kissing my temple.

He slips a pillow under my hips and I bring my knees up to my chest, opening my legs wider. He kneels between them and I watch as he spreads the lube over his thick cock. He's a magnificent sight; honey-blond hair covering his broad, muscular chest, then forming a narrow trail down over his toned stomach to his navel, below which it widens again to join with the thick curls of his pubic hair. A light fur covers his forearms and muscular thighs, his hips are slim and I already know the cheeks of his firm, round arse fit perfectly in my hands.

At last he leans down and captures my lips, and at the same time I feel the tip of his penis nuzzling my anus. I'm almost overwhelmed with emotion as I realise he's going to kiss me as he enters, and all I can do is hold onto him, wrapping my arms and my legs around him and returning the kiss in full measure, opening myself to him as he thrusts and nuzzles, thrusts and nuzzles his way inside my body.

"Oh, James," he breathes in my ear as his cock-head finally slips past my sphincter. The emotion in his voice almost makes me wish I'd told him my real name, just so that I can hear him say it like that, as if this means the world to him. I've never felt more taken, more possessed than I do at this moment, and as we pause to adjust to the new sensation I gently tangle my fingers in his hair and guide his mouth back to mine. I'm on fire as he slowly, deliberately eases further inside my willing body. Sweat beads along my spine and my fully stretched anus burns with wonderfully pleasured pain as I feel every centimetre of him sliding inexorably past it until he fills me completely.

"Move," I whisper. I don't know whether it's a command or a plea.

He begins with tiny, tentative thrusts inside me, accompanied by a rain of kisses on my lips, but as our passion grows he gradually becomes more forceful, and as I rock my hips repeatedly up to meet him he changes the angle and begins to push against my prostate at the height of each stroke. The sensation is intense, and I grasp convulsively at his shoulders, needing to hold on to something solid as I gasp for breath. He raises himself up on one elbow and gazes intently into my eyes as he reaches between our bodies and takes hold of my aching cock, and I strive to maintain some semblance of control as he strokes in rhythm with his thrusts, biting my lip as waves of intense pleasure build and break over me, each one taking me higher than the last.

My eyes are wide and locked with his. I can't tear my gaze away. He's brought me to the edge, and my breath is coming in little mewing gasps. It's a sound I didn't even know I could make. I cling to him frantically as he pounds into my arse, my heart trip-hammering in time with his rapid stroking of my penis.

"Come for me, baby," he breathes in my ear. "It's okay, darlin'. Let it happen, I'll be right behind ya."

At his urging I finally relax and allow myself to feel the full intensity of the sensations he's creating in my body. Pulses of fire blaze up my spine and I feel like I'm melting under him, and at the same time a snake awakens low in my belly. It slowly begins to unravel, coils sliding smoothly over each other, filling my abdomen with liquid heat as it gradually grows more agitated, churning and writhing within me for what seems like an age, until suddenly I can't take any more and it folds in on itself.

"Trip!" I cry out as my orgasm overtakes me, my semen spurting out over my chest, and I hear his answering groan as he thrusts harder and faster, until moments later he jerks and freezes, emptying his seed inside me.

"James," he breathes as he collapses to top of me, both of us spent.

I wrap myself around him as we lie together, recovering. One of us is trembling, but I'm not sure who it is. Perhaps it's both of us. For the moment I'm comfortable with his weight and warmth on top of me, his panting gusts of breath in my ear. All I want at this moment is to be with him.

He brings his hand up to sift gently through my damp hair and I turn my head to face him. We kiss. There are no words we could possibly say to each other, so we say nothing, instead letting our the touch of lips and tongues and bodies speak for us.

"Baby," he called me in the throes of passion. "Darlin'." It's been a long time since I was anyone's 'baby'; anyone's 'darling'. I know he didn't mean anything by it, but I'm grateful to him for at least creating the illusion that this was more than just a one-night stand.

The moment can't last for ever, as much as I might want it to, and at last our rapidly cooling bodies force us to move.

"I guess we'd better clean up a little," he murmurs, and his penis slips out of me as he moves away and slides out of bed, padding naked across the room towards the door I assume leads to his bathroom.

I take it as my cue to leave. I hear running water as I hunt for my clothes, and I'm just about to pull on my briefs when the door opens again.

"James?" He drops the damp towel he was offering me and crosses the room in three long strides. "Don't go, James. Spend the night with me." He sits down on the edge of the bed, and I offer little resistance as he pulls me to him. "Please don't go."

It's the 'please' that makes me stay. I admit I'd enjoy a night spent in his warm, furry embrace, and who knows; perhaps we might manage another round.

He eases us back down into his bed and pulls the blankets around us, creating a warm cocoon. As I tuck my head into the hollow between his neck and his shoulder it dawns on me that his behaviourâ€”all the kissing, and now cuddling and wanting me to spend the night with himâ€”indicates he's more accustomed to having a regular lover than to more fleeting liaisons, and I wonder again about the friend who stood him up tonight as I enjoy this semblance of intimacy.

I wake to find the sun streaming through the uncurtained window, shedding its golden glow on our tangled limbs. I could lie here all day, with my head resting on his chest, his chest-hair tickling my nose as I listen to his heartbeat and the steady rise and fall of his breathing. All day, every day. And that's why I have to leave before one amazing night becomes a disastrous relationship.

I raise my head and drink in the sight of him one last time, his deliciously tousled hair and boyish features relaxed in sleep. I have to fight the desire to kiss him awake. As I move he clutches at me, frowning as he acts out some dream, and I lean down to gently caress his brow and murmur soothing nothings in his ear until he settles.

Finally, reluctantly, I slide out of his arms and out of his bed and pull on my clothes, but I can't resist pausing momentarily to look at him again before I leave. The memory of this wonderful night will be with me for a long time, fuelling my masturbatory fantasies for months, even years to come. I want to thank him for that, and I lean down to brush my lips across his temple. When I draw back, his eyes are open.

"You're leaving?" he says, propping himself up on one elbow and squinting a little against the bright sunlight.

I nod, allowing a small, regretful smile to pull at my lips.

"Am I ever gonna see you again?" He already knows the answer, but the sadness in his voice almost melts my heart. I've never been so tempted, but that's exactly the reason I must say no. This man would prove a wonderful distraction, but he couldn't possibly understand my commitment to Starfleet, my dedication to my goal. And how could I fly off into deep space in five years' time, leaving him behind on Earth?

No, I must leave and never look back, but there is one last thing I can do for him. I tilt his chin up towards me and lean down to give him the sweetest, most tender kiss I can manage. I have to blink away tears as it ends.

"You never know," I whisper, hoarsely, before I turn and walk out of his life for ever.


End file.
